For Whom the Bell Tolls
by KaoticVoodou
Summary: Set somewhere between 7x17 and 7x19. Still laying low, the boys take a case in Tennessee. Unexplained deaths and disappearances are being chalked up to a famous ghost, but everything is not what it is cracked up to be. I'm horrible at summaries. Hopefully, you'll read it anyway.
1. Chapter 1

Dean put one of the large coffees in the crook of his elbow, enabling one free hand to turn the knob. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and shut it with a kick. A brown paper bag with grease stains on the side dangled from between his teeth until he could set the hot beverages on the table. "Sam, you up?" He dug inside the bag and pulled out the sandwiches, laying one beside his brother's idle laptop. "Sammy?" The beds were empty and it was then he heard the shower running and noticed Sam's duffel, sitting open in the chair. With a shrug, he took a hearty bite and moved Sam's bag. Sitting down, he ran his finger over the mouse pad to wake the laptop. "Let's see what you've been looking at, little brother." It was obviously research, a hunt for a case. Murders, disappearances, the usual. He smiled grimly. The usual for them lately had been death, Leviathans, and just Hell on earth. The brothers had literally lost everything and everyone. Hunting now was more dangerous than ever, but it was what they did. It was who they were. And as long as he had Sam…

"Are you watching that cartoon porn again?"

Dean stifled a gasp. He had not heard the shower stop. Quickly righting himself, he put a finger in the air and stated matter-of-factly, "Anime, Sam. It's called anime."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude." Holding the towel at his waist, he stalked over and reached in front of Dean to click on a webpage he had previously been reading. "Look at this." His brother held his sandwich high.

"Gross, Sam. Get dressed!" Another eye roll and Sam disappeared back into the bathroom. Dean chewed and read and read and chewed, finishing the sandwich long before finishing the page. "Seriously, man? The Bell Witch?"

"Open the window on the right!" Came the voice from the bathroom. Dean mouthed the words mockingly, but did as he was told. His eyes scanned the screen as he sipped his coffee, eyes widening then narrowing only to widen again as he read. "Did you see?" Sam emerged fully clothed and tossed the damp towel into the corner. Taking a seat across from Dean, he picked up the sandwich, sniffed it, and sat it back down before picking up his coffee.

"Sammy. Eat." Dean all but ordered while he kept his eyes glued to the screen.

"I'm good." Sam sipped the hot liquid and waited for his brother to finish.

"Okay, disappearances and a few unexplained deaths." The older of the two leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head. "What makes this our kinda thing?"

Sam dropped his head, exasperated. Grabbing the side of the laptop, he spun it around to face him. "The Bell Witch was said to make her first appearance back in 1817 to the family of John Bell. It's suspected to be the ghost of his former fiancé, Kate Batts. Her death was…" he tilted his head to one side, then the other, "unexplained."

"Sammy."

"Yea?"

"Your geek is showing."

Sam fumed. "Shut up."

Dean chuckled and propped his feet up on the arm of Sam's chair. "Okay… that doesn't answer my-,"

Sam held up a hand. "John, his children, and many family guests were said to have been attacked by an unseen presence: slapping, pulling their hair, they would hear whispers. One of the children…Betsy… even got sick, convulsions and fainting."

"So?"

"_So_, before their deaths, the recent victims reported being harassed by an unseen assailant." Sam sat back, giving the sole of Dean's boots a scowl before shoving them off.

"Okay, I'll bite. So, where's all this happening?"

"Adams, Tennessee." Sam shut the laptop and got up, putting it away in his bag. "Don't you know _anything_?" He shook his head and set about packing up his belongs while Dean had yet to move from his perch.

"Ignorance is bliss." Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother, now standing in the doorway, weapons bag in one hand and his duffel in the other. "You in a hurry, princess?" Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was waved off quickly. "I'm kidding. Jeez, gimme five minutes and we're out of here." With that, he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Sam sighed and dropped the bags to the floor. Sometimes his brother was absolutely insufferable, but then again, that is what made Dean _Dean_. He would prefer this version of Dean any day, compared to a grieving, angry shell of a man. It was Dean that always had his back, even in those moments when he couldn't fully be trusted; when he couldn't even trust himself. When everyone else was sure Sam would fall…even if he _did_ fall… Dean was there.

He snapped from his reverie when the bathroom door opened to reveal his brother's face in a billowing cloud of steam. "Better make that ten."

Sam sighed again…and then smiled.

As long as he had Dean…

* * *

Dean climbed back into the car, a pack of M&M's dangling from between his teeth, and tossed his bagful of goodies into the seat. Sam looked up from the map but said nothing. "What? I got you healthy crap." He grabbed a bottle of water and a protein bar from the bag and tossed them into Sam's lap.

"Thanks."

"How long we got?" The engine of the Challenger rumbled to life and Dean took a moment to yearn for his baby. He cursed the Leviathans for forcing him to put her off the radar. With an indignant pout, he put the car into gear and pulled away from the middle-of-nowhere station.

"Uh, about seven hours." Sam wiped at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, folding the map and putting it in the glove box. He had slept three days after Castiel had taken on his mental burden, but, truth be told, he was still exhausted. The time he had spent battling Lucifer's projection had taken its toll. Since that time, even before that, they had spent most of their time laying low, taking small cases that did not reek of Leviathans. Even then, they kept their guard up, never knowing which 'innocent' bystander would turn out to be a 'big mouth.' "Just get to Clarksville. No hotels in Adams." He adjusted himself in the seat as best he could and let his head rest against the window.

Dean glanced over and then back to the road. "You okay?"

"Yea, I'm good." Sam closed his eyes. "Just tired."

His brother did not question. Sam had every right to be tired. Having Satan pick at every nook and cranny of your melon would undoubtedly take a lot out of a man. Flipping on the radio, he opted for a softer station, allowing Sam some quiet. Besides, he could blast Metallic in seven hours.

And that's just what he did.

Sam jolted awake to _Enter Sandman_, nearly putting a dent in the top of the small car.

"Rise and shine, Snow White!"

"Dude, are you _five_?" The younger Winchester rubbed at his eyes. "And it's Sleeping Beauty, idiot."

"You're such a girl." The driver's side door slammed shut before Sam could muster a retort. He would save that one for later. Unfolding himself from the Challenger, he stretched, joints eagerly popping and muscles screaming in relief. Twisting his back, he caught sight of the sign.

"Days Inn?"

Dean stopped and looked back. "Yea. So?"

"Not very inconspicuous." Compared to where they usually stayed, this was a mansion.

"Exactly." He walked back and leaned a hip against the car's hood. "If there are big and slimy's here, they are going to look for us at the most rundown place in town." Sam nodded. Dean had a point. "Besides, Adams is another half hour away and this place is the closest to the road."

"Okay." Sam ran a hand through his hair and walked back to the trunk. "I'll get the bags, you get the room." Dean nodded and trudged toward the office. Sam grabbed the few bags and sat one on the ground, freeing up a hand to shut the trunk. He headed toward the ground floor, studying his surroundings while he waited for his brother. They were obviously downtown, several taller buildings looming in the background with small, no-name establishments scattered down the road. He had to admit, even with Dean's logic, being smack dab in the middle of the city made him a little edgy. Clearing his throat, he dropped his head as a few people shuffled by and up the stairs, paying him no mind.

"Christo." He mumbled, just loud enough for the middle-aged woman to hear. She turned and looked down at him, expression vague.

"I beg your pardon?" Confusion drifted across her features and her hand drifted to fiddle with the cross dangling from her neck. Sam shook his head.

"Uh, sorry. Thought you were," he looked away, embarrassed, "someone else."

"Oh. Well, alright, then. Have a good evening." She gave him one last glance before shooing her children further up the stairs, muttering about 'watch out for strangers.' Sam sighed and wearily turned toward the jingling sound of keys.

"Room 315." Dean tossed the keys in the air and caught them. "Second floor."

"Lovely." Sam groaned, tossing one of the duffels to his brother. He fell in line behind Dean as he trotted up the stairs and down the hallway, counting off each room number as they passed.

"Where the hell is 315?"

"After 314."

Dean turned and put a finger in Sam's face. "Watch it or you'll be sleeping in the car, Sasquatch." He smiled; that smile that says _'you think I'm kidding until you're sticking your feet out the window trying to get comfortable.' _Sam waited for him to turn before rolling his eyes. "Ah, here we go!" Dean unlocked the door and reached inside to flip on the lights. Two full size beds sat against the wall, bright colors garnishing the sheets. Each bed was piled high with white, fluffy pillows at the top. The green carpet accented the other colors in the room, preventing it from being a total eyesore. Nice décor hanged on the light beige walls. A nightstand with a clock radio, lamp, and phone sat between the beds. And best of all, a large flat screen television sat on top of the large dresser. The boys just stared in aw for a few moments before Dean hit his knees in front of the tv. "Please…tell me there is pay per view."

Sam dropped and shook his head, trudging past his brother to deposit the bags on the foot of the bed closest to the bathroom. After taking a peek at the shower and vanity area, he clapped his hands. "Well, we should go take a look at a few of the crime scenes." Dean was still staring into the blank screen of the television from his spot on the floor.

"Sammy, if they have pay per view…"

"Dude."

"Okay, okay. We'll get right to work."

"_Thank _you."

"_After_ we get some chow." Dean continued to survey the room, walking circles around Sam, who just stared at nothing, exasperated. Hands in his pockets, he waited patiently for his brother's short attention span to flip to the next channel. "You just gonna stand there?" There it was.

"Oh, okay. You're ready now?"

"I've _been_ ready. Come on! I'm hungry!" Dean opened the door and eyed Sam as he walked through.

"When are you _not_ hungry?"

He thought about it for a moment before yelling to down the hall to his brother's retreating form, "When I'm rolling in the hay with a hot piece of-"

"DEAN!"

* * *

TBC

Some of the information about Clarksville and Adams is accurate, but some is also just the product of my delusional creativity.

I was really excited when I started writing this. I heart reading about the Bell Witch.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed.

Until next time...


	2. Chapter 2

"Welcome to Stacy's! Just have a seat anywhere and a server will be with you shortly." The young waitress beamed as she walked by Dean, giggling when he turned to keep eye contact with her as he and Sam approached a small table next to the window.

"I think I like Clarksville." He chuckled, pulling out his chair before sitting down and picking up the menu.

Sam peered over his own menu. "What happened to Salina, Cameron, Rexburg, and Irving?" Dean's expression fell straight. "You liked them, too."

"Shuddup."

"What can I get for you boys?" The brothers went silent as their server tapped her pen against the top of her check pad. She was in her early to mid twenties, five foot five, brown hair pulled back into two pigtails that reached the middle of her back. Her 'uniform' consisted of a white t-shirt that hugged her small form in all the right places, sporting the diner's name, and a pair of cut-off shorts that stopped mid-thigh. "Ya'll just gonna catch flies all day or can I start you off with somethin' to drink?" One look at Dean confirmed that his thoughts were well beyond gutter level. Sam was surprised his brother was not drooling.

"Two coffees, please." The younger Winchester smiled. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, hon." With a wink, she ambled off behind the counter.

"I think she's sweet on you, Sammy." Dean nudged his brother's arm, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. He picked up the menu and pretended to be seriously considering its options. "I could, you know, go for a drive later if you need the room."

"Knock it off." Sam felt the heat rise in his face and lifted his menu to hide his flushed cheeks. Moments later, two steaming cups were placed in front of them, the waitress again readying for their order.

"So, what'll it be, boys?"

Dean laid his menu on the table and folded his hands. "Pancakes and a side of pig."

"Scrambled eggs and wheat toast." Sam all but mumbled, avoiding her admiring gaze as he handed over the menu. Dean nodded in thanks as Sam pulled his laptop from his bag.

"Alright, I'll have that right out for you." Folding the menus against her chest, she walked away and disappeared behind the counter once more.

Sam typed and clicked in silence, sipping his coffee as he read. "So, fill me in." Dean requested, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

"Three deaths in the past week. The first vic was a single mother, Laura Kites. She was found in her mobile home, strangled with multiple stab wounds." He leaned back in his chair. "Her son went missing two weeks ago." He paused and continued to read, brows drawing together. "Huh."

"What?"

"All three victims reported their children missing a week before their deaths."

"So, what? A changeling?"

"It's possible." Sam adjusted nervously in his seat as the plate was placed in front of him, contrary to his brother's pleased smile as he looked over his own meal. "Thank you." He nodded, a twitching smile appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

"Let me know if you need anything else." She placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "My name is Alicia."

Dean watched her walk away, popping some bacon into his mouth. "You sure you don't want me to take that drive?"

"Dean."

"Okay, okay." He put his hands up in defeat and grabbed his fork, going to work on the stack of pancakes. Sam continued to read, picking at the food on his plate. "Dude. Eat."

"I am." His eyes continued to scan the screen, pausing only for a few bites now and then. His appetite, like everything else with him these days, was anything but normal. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed the plate away and sat back. "Might as well start at the beginning. Let's pay a visit to Laura Kites' place." Dean pushed Sam's plate back toward him.

"_After_ you eat."

Sam summoned his best bitch-face, earning only another shove at the plate. With a sigh, he resigned to Dean's mothering, finding it irritating yet comforting at the same time. Stabbing at the eggs with unnecessary force, he held up the bite and gave a sarcastic smile before popping it into his mouth. "_Happy_?"

"Thrilled." Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm going to take care of the check. _You_," he pointed at Sam and then the food, "finish that."

"Yes, mother."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

The drive to Adams was relatively quiet, Sam alternating between the map, the news reports, and simply gazing out the window while Dean drove. He always found it easier to organize his thoughts while they were on the road. It was difficult to retreat to memories that left his heart so heavy, but that was their life: a cluttered mess of chaos and loss. It was impossible to regret at this point. It would not bring back their family, their friends.

Dean turned into the small mobile home park, glancing at the numbers on the outside of each unit as they passed. His efforts proved futile when the yellow tape came into view. Sam and Dean leaned forward, looking up and out of the windshield at the decrepit residence. "Do you think it looked that way before the murder?"

Ignoring the question, Sam exited the vehicle, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans, underneath his jacket. Hazel eyes did a brief sweep of the outside. The area was empty, silent, leading him to believe that the authorities had already finished their initial investigation. Crossing the crime scene tape, he approached the front door, Dean not far behind. The small porch was composed of two cinderblocks and some rotting wood. Sam could feel the instability of the structure as it took both his and Dean's weight with a creaking moan. His fingers barely graced the knob when…

"Somethin' I can do for you fellas?"

Both Winchesters spun on a heel, trigger hands at the ready. An elderly woman stood just beyond the tape, in front of the neighboring home. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun on the back of her head, wild strands sticking out in various places. Glasses sat on the tip of her nose and her lips had caved in around toothless gums. Quickly regaining composure, Dean stepped in front of his brother and thumbed toward the victim's residence. "What can you tell us about Ms. Kites?"

The woman eyed them suspiciously, resulting in Sam wishing they had worn their suits. "Excuse my partner, ma'am. I'm agent Lee," he flashed his fake id and motioned to Dean, who mimicked him almost immediately, "this is agent Neil." Her expression visually softened and she nodded.

"It's a real tragedy, ya know. That woman was one of the kindest souls I ever met. First her boy and then this. Just…tragic." She seemed to look at nothing, shaking her head before focusing on the two men on the porch. "I'm Eleanor, by the way. I've lived next to Laura for the past five years, ever since she got away from that man."

"An ex husband?" Sam questioned, stepping down. "Abusive?"

Eleanor nodded. "She always did right by her boy. Worked two jobs, made sure he was never without."

"Her son…" He paused and leaned forward a little, trying to recall the child's name, "Matthew. He went missing. Any reason to suspect the ex husband?"

"Oh, Lord, no. That man is serving two life sentences for what he did to Laura and those two others last year." Sam's questioning gaze urged her to continue, "He tracked her down, came here. Beat Laura nearly to death, he did, and… murdered the two women she worked with. Killed them in cold blood."

"Anyone else you can think of that would want to hurt her or Matthew?" Dean inquired, hands in his pockets.

"Why, no," She looked between the two, not seeming to understand. "Like I said, she was a wonderful person."

Sam pondered for a moment, recalling a key point in the reports. "Did Laura ever say anything to you about being harassed or hurt by…" He tried to choose his words carefully, but there really was no other way to say it, "…by something or someone she couldn't see?" He was surprised by the sympathetic expression that plagued her features.

"Just a few days before…it happened… Laura came to my door. She was shaking and just _terrified_, poor thing." Eleanor began to wring her hands, recalling the scene in her head. "She said she could hear voices, and that…that something had tried to choke the life out of her, but…but she was alone."

The brothers glanced at each other, Sam turning back to the woman while Dean retreated to the small porch. "We appreciate your time, Eleanor. You've been very helpful." He placed a hand on her shoulder, presented a bleak smile, and turned away as Dean opened the door and disappeared inside.

"Agent Lee?" Sam turned, brows raised in regard. "Please, find the one responsible and, please, for the sake of Laura's aching soul, find her boy."

"We'll do everything we can." This smile was a little more reassuring. He tried for that. He just could not allow it to leak that he was almost 99 percent certain that the boy had preceded his mother in death. He had to give her hope. If he could not do that, then why was it he was a hunter in the first place? Stepping into the residence, his eyes widened slightly. The interior was completely opposed to the muddle outside. The small living room greeted him, simple in its décor and layout. Several pictures of a little boy and a young woman adorned the small table just behind the couch. Crouching, he felt a twinge of sadness stir in his gut. Laura Kites had been broadcast on the front of several news sites and local papers, but this was the first picture he had seen of Matthew. The boy in the picture was sporting a large smile and an even larger catfish, most likely his first catch. His mother was beside him, smile just as bright. Sam sighed. Families, happy families, should never know of the world in which he and his brother subsisted. This family, from what Eleanor had said, had seen enough hardship before this evil had found them. Yet…they still smiled.

"Sam."

He rose and turned toward the sound of Dean's voice down the hall. "Yea, I'm here." Advancing toward the back room, every article he passed told its own story about the mother and her son: pictures, awards, certificates, drawings.

He nearly had to duck when he entered the master bedroom, looking up to make sure he was going to clear it without a good jolt to the cranium. "You find anything?" Dean was standing in the middle of room, EMF detector in hand, the needle twitching but remaining on the low end of the scale. This room was in shambles. The bed's sheets were lying halfway in the floor. Pictures were scattered about, frames broken and bent. Even the curtains barely remained on the rods and they looked almost shredded… like someone had clawed at them in a moment of panic.

"Doesn't really seem to be the MO of a changeling." Dean folded the antenna of the EMF and tucked the device back into his pocket. "We need to get a look at the body and see if we can find any evidence of feeding." He maneuvered around the bed and into the small bathroom. "No sulfur, so it's doubtful we're dealing with a demon."

"Witch?" Sam asked, running his fingers down the door's frame. He did the same to the windowsills and underneath the mattress. "No hexbags or coins."

"Let's not rule it out just yet." Dean answered, walking back into the room. "Morgue?"

"Morgue." Sam nodded, falling in line behind Dean toward the door. Giving the room one last glance, his eyes landed upon a couple of the pictures on the floor. More photos of Laura and Matthew lay behind the shattered glass but one featured the victim and another woman. Glancing at Dean's retreating form, he stopped and knelt to scoop up the photo, shaking the glass from it. He had seen the woman somewhere, recently. A feeling of unease began to churn in his gut, and Sam suddenly felt like he was being watched.

"Hey." Startled, he looked up to meet his brother's gaze from the doorway. "Let's rock and roll, man."

"Yea." Sam nodded and stood. "Yea, let's go." Folding the photograph, he shoved it into his pocket and followed Dean.

* * *

The two men finally left the room and he was able to lower himself from the insulation entry in the closet ceiling. He was careful not to let his decent to the floor make any unnecessary noise, lest they come back and discover him. He traveled silently to the window and drew back the blinds slightly, watching the pair make their way back to their vehicle.

These two would be trouble…and he had to sound the alarm.

* * *

TBC.

Stacy's is actually a diner here in my town.

I do realize that not all people in Tennessee speak with such a southern drawl, but, oh yes, my lovelies. Some people do. My sister is one of them.

Also, forgive me if I make any stupid mistakes in my timeline of events or grammar or anything of the sort. I have not written in a long time, so I am still trying to get back in the swing of things.

Hope you enjoy!

Until next time...


	3. Chapter 3

The door opened, revealing two exhausted Winchesters. Dean trundled to the mini-fridge, pulling out a beer while Sam shrugged off his jacket. The visit to the morgue had proven fruitless. "No signs of feeding. Not a changeling. No sulfur. Not a demon. No hexbags." Taking a seat on the foot of his bed, Dean wiped a hand over his face before twisting the cap from the bottle. "Not even a coin. So, I guess the Bell Witch isn't our culprit either." He tipped the beer and gulped greedily.

"She was a spirit, not a witch." Sam opened his laptop and took a seat at the small table. He could feel the confusion radiating from his brother and smiled. "She was never a witch."

His brother threw up his hands, careful not to spill his beverage. "Then why the hell do they call her that?"

"It wasn't uncommon for people to call a ghost a witch back in those days. That's the speculation, anyway." He glanced at Dean and stifled a chuckle. He looked completely lost. With a smirk, he looked back at the screen and began to type. "Hand me those files we grabbed, would you?" Dean pushed himself from the bed and retrieved the paperwork, placing it on the table before he pulled up the other chair. "Thanks." Dean's beer tipped toward him in reply. Sam began to shuffle through the papers, comparing confidential notes with the public information he was able to find online.

"Anything interesting?" Dean pouted as he swallowed the last of the beer, not willing to retrieve another. Depositing the bottle on the table, he leaned back and folded his arms.

"It looks like the victims didn't have a lot in common. Like they were chosen at random. The second, Amber Carlton was a happily married real estate agent. The third, Nick Peterson, was a high school football coach in Clarksville." Sam briefly flipped through some photos. "The sequence of events is the same: missing children, voices and attacks, and then boom. Dead."

"Maybe…maybe they're just grief-stricken parents and there's nothing weird about it."

"So…they strangled themselves?"

"You're right. That part's weird."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and leaned back. "I don't know, man."

"We've worked with less and figured it out in the end." Dean tapped a tune on tabletop with his fingers before giving it a light slap and standing. "I'll tell you what I _do_ know." His brother regarded him with a raised brow. "There's hot water in that shower and clean sheets on that bed."

The younger Winchester chuckled and shut the laptop. "You're right." With a monstrous yawn, he waved Dean off to the bathroom, waiting for the door to close before shedding his jeans and shirts. Now clad in a pair of gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he pulled out the picture he had taken from Laura Kites' residence. He _knew_ he had seen that woman, but just… could not put his finger on it. With a sigh, he tossed the photo onto the scattered pile on the table. Dean was right. They would sleep tonight and start fresh in the morning. Sam would be lying if he said he was not tired. Weary to his bones was more like it. No matter how much he slept, he could never shake the feeling. Still, he held on to the hope that, one day, everything would go back to normal. Well, as normal as being a Winchester could get. Throwing back the sheets, he climbed onto the soft mattress and sank into its inviting warmth. Pulling the blankets over him was the least of his concerns as he closed his eyes.

"Looks like you're getting a cold shower, Sam." Dean laughed as he emerged from the steam-filled room. He tossed his the damp towel and dirty laundry into the corner and adjusted the waistband of his sweats. "Sorry, I lost track of…" The older man smiled softly, "time." Sam was lying on his stomach, arms disappearing underneath the pillow, long legs halfway on top of the sheets. Even though he was facing the other side of the room, his even breathing and soft moans told Dean he was long since asleep. Approaching the area between the two beds, he grabbed the blankets and carefully lifted his brother's legs. Sam never stirred as Dean settled the blankets just below his shoulders.

He opted to leave the television off tonight. Things were quiet. There were no imminent threats, no signs of Leviathan activity. Finally, they could see some peace and get a decent night's sleep. The world owed them that much. However, hunter instincts could never be ignored. After securing salt lines at the door and the windows, switching on the police radio, and placing some industrial cleaners next to the bed, he switched off the lights and crawled into his own bed. One last conscious observance of the silence and then his head met the pillow.

"G'night, Sammy."

* * *

"_Sam."_

His brow wrinkled and he adjusted his head on the pillow. Dean was insane if he thought Sam was getting up before daylight.

"_Sam."_

"Ugh." He turned over, blinking to clear the blurry numbers on the clock. _'1:30? Are you out of your mind, Dean?'_ He buried his face in pillow.

"_SAM!"_

'_Wait…' _He flipped onto his back and bolted upright, staring wide-eyed at the lump in the other bed. His brother was fast asleep. He wiped at his eyes and looked around the room, both relieved and terrified to find they were completely and utterly alone. "What the…?" He shook his head and waited, only to be greeted by silence. _'Nightmare?'_ He was not sure. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, fear welling up in his gut. What if it didn't work? What if the wall was still broken somehow?

"S'm?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin, even when he saw Dean, propped up on his elbows. He nodded several times before he could manage words. "I…I'm okay."

Dean titled his head, attempting to look suspicious through tired eyes. "…Okay."

Sam knew he had to be tired if his big brother sense was not tingling. "Thought I heard something." He cleared his throat and waved it off, trying his best to stifle the tremble in his hands. "Go back to sleep." The older Winchester stared at him for a beat longer before falling back onto the pillow, dead to the world. Sam took a deep, shaky breath and looked around the room again. _'Get a grip, Sam. You're just tired, that's all.'_ Forcing himself back to the pillow, he closed his eyes, praying sleep would claim him quickly…but the silence. It was like waiting for an inevitable explosion that never came. He was almost (_almost)_ certain the devil was no longer in his head, but he waited for the voice; waited for hell to come at him from all sides, yet there was nothing. Nothing but Dean's soft snores and the whir from the small heater below the window. Sam sighed and threw back the blankets.

He was definitely going to need coffee.

* * *

Dean obviously did not remember the previous night's episode, never pressing Sam for information. It was nothing new for Sam to be up with the sun, way before his brother. He had already retrieved the morning cup o' joe and breakfast for Dean before his brother had decided to open his eyes.

Tossing the greasy bag at his stretching brother, he disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower. He rested his head against the wall and just let the water trail down his back. The heat felt amazing, soothing weary muscles in his back and shoulders. It was not surprising when he could feel sleep pulling at him. He had spent most of the night researching the murders and going over more Bell Witch lore. He scrubbed a wet hand over his face, digging at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He was in no hurry to get out, but the inevitable pounding on the door was only moments away.

Reluctantly turning off the water, he stepped out, securing the towel around his waist. Wiping a hand across the mirror, he stared at his reflection. He could see the dark circles beginning to form underneath his eyes, but even he had to admit, he looked better. With a sigh, he stared at his clean clothing, willing his body to move before…

"Get the lead out, Sammy!" Dean tapped on the bathroom door. He had heard the shower cut off at least ten minutes earlier and, well, patience was not exactly Dean Winchester's best characteristic. When there was no answer, he knocked on the door a few more times. "Sam!" The door flew open and Sam emerged, ready to go albeit his hair was still damp. He said nothing as he stalked past his brother, tossing his laundry and wet towel into the corner on top of Dean's from last night. Dean watched as the young hunter sat on the bottom of the bed, pulling on his boots. "Hey." Sam finished lacing up the strings and stood, slapping his watch onto his wrist. "Sam?"

"What do you want, Dean?" His voice was rough, but there was no heat to his words. He had just begun to gather up the files when a hand slammed down on top of them. He could not hide the surprise in his gaze as he locked eyes with his brother.

"Are you okay?"

Sam had seen that look many times. Dean was worried. He had not meant to give him reason. "Oh. Yea, I'm sorry." He clapped his brother's shoulder a couple of times and gave a classic Sammy smile. "I'm good." Finishing the task of putting the files and laptop into his bag, he turned away, hoping he had been convincing enough.

"Are you sure?" No such luck. "We can stay here today, man."

Sam spun around. "Dean, I'm fine, really." He caught his bottom lip in his teeth for a moment. "I just didn't sleep all that well. You know, just…getting used to _not _being bats in the belfry and all that." He waited for a reaction, feeling uneasy as his brother scrutinized his words and his demeanor, ready to pick him apart if he found the smallest hint of a lie. To his astonishment, Dean resigned and grabbed the keys.

"Alright, if you're sure."

Sam watched him leave the room and let his shoulders slump. Dean was on alert. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Sam stayed remotely quiet during the interviews with neighbors, family, and friends, only interjecting when he was positive an important question had been left unasked. Dean knew the ropes and he trusted him to get the information they needed. The younger hunter had stood to the side, struggling to focus through the sleep-deprived haze in his head. Eventually, he had left his brother to examine the room in which the third victim had been found.

"And you're sure he was alone?" Dean asked, handing the young widow a tissue.

"I'm positive." Mrs. Peterson nodded her thanks, dabbing at her eyes before returning her hands to her lap and anxiously picking at the Kleenex. "He hadn't been sleeping since Sophie was…" A fresh wave tears collected on her lashes. "Well, neither of us really had. I mean, how could we? Our baby girl was just… gone." She dropped her head, her shoulders bouncing with the sobs. "He wasn't crazy, Agent Neil."

"I believe you," He tried to muster his sincerest face, "but I need to know everything that _you _know." Dean was the furthest thing from desensitized. He had heard his fair share heart –wrenching tales, cried his fair share of tears. However, he also knew that, in this life, not everyone could be saved.

Mrs. Peterson nodded and sniffed. "Nick took Sophie's disappearance very hard. He spent hours locked in his room, making calls, drafting flyers, and reading news reports from other states; anything to find her. I would…walk in and find him talking… to himself. It wasn't always…quiet. Sometimes he would scream, throw things. It was just a few days… but it was just… too much. When I started to leave, he told me about the voices." Dean leaned in a little closer as if he might miss what she would say next. "He said…they wouldn't stop. They were telling him…telling him that Sophie was dead, telling him what had been done to her. Then the bruises and cuts came… He even had a…" she motioned to the left side of her head, choking on the words as if she could hardly believe it herself, "…a chunk of hair ripped out. I…I accused him, accused him of doing it to himself. He swore it wasn't him, that…that _something_ was attacking him… And then…" She looked toward the stairs, what happened next becoming obvious as she doubled over once again in endless, broken sobs.

* * *

The office was a far cry from Laura Kites' bedroom, everything still in its place. He wondered if Mrs. Peterson had already cleaned up the carnage after the police had given the all clear. Strips of yellow tape were cascaded around, but the blood and any other evidence of a death had long since been scrubbed away. With a sigh, Sam began the usual: search for hexbags, sulfur, or any other supernatural indication. He scanned the books on the large shelf, seeing nothing that would suggest Nick Peterson was into anything bizarre. "Damnit!" He all but growled. Two days and still nothing. People were dying and the Winchesters were clueless as to how to stop it. He took a few tired steps toward the door, glancing up at a few pictures that decorated the wall…and froze.

Sam approached the photo, eyes narrowed as he looked past his reflection in the glass to the smiling couple, their child, and another woman; the same woman in the picture from Laura Kites' room. _'Yahtzee.' _A connection between the victims. Soundlessly removing the frame from the wall, he pried open the back and removed the image. Laying the frame on the desk, he turned to the door, ready to go ask permission to take the photo, but something stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was so low at first; he almost did not hear it.

"_Sam."_

He shook his head. _'I'm just tired. Just…really tired.' _He managed a step before the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, again feeling that he was not alone in the room. "Who's there?" He demanded, not so much for ignoring the sensation this time around. There was a beat of silence before, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A shadow darted behind the desk, only a few feet away from where he stood. He opened his mouth to ask again, the words stalling on his lips as the heavy desk lifted and pitched toward him.

"_YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE!"_

* * *

__TBC

Sorry for the lapse of time in between chapters. I am a busy busy woman. Most of my chapters will be written on the weekends and I will TRY to have them up every Monday.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Until next time...


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